Page 19 of Fall Surprises
Gus stood at the center island, surrounded by cooling racks of cookies. Brown butter and chocolate hung thick in the air. His shoulders were hunched forward, but they eased along with his jaw when I entered. He set down the piping bag he'd been wielding like a weapon.
"Stress baking. Figured we'd need cookies for this mess."
"That bad from in here?"
"I've had the DJ ask me three times if I can 'whip up some jello shots,' the groom tried to come into my kitchen to 'see what smells so good,' and Raven sent her assistant down to demand I prepare a separate vegan, gluten-free, soy-free, nut-free,nightshade-free meal—but it absolutely must include parmesan because she saw it on my prep counter and decided she wants it."
"But parmesan is dairy."
"Exactly." He picked up the piping bag again, squeezed out a perfect rosette of frosting on an autumn leaf cookie. "The assistant didn't seem to know that. Or care. Just kept insisting Raven specifically requested it."
I leaned against the counter beside him. The heat from the ovens seeped into my back, easing some of the knots from my shoulders.
"Can we murder them?" I asked.
"Thinking about it." He grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack, broke it in half, and handed me a piece. "Eat. You look like you're about to collapse."
The cookie was perfect—crisp edges, chewy center, deep toffee notes from the brown butter. I bit into it and couldn't suppress a satisfied hum.
"That good?" Amusement colored his tone.
"Better than good." I opened my eyes to find him watching me with that look, my stomach flipped. "You're a magician."
"Just cookies."
"Nothing you make is just anything."
We stood there in the kitchen, the wedding party chaos temporarily forgotten. He threaded his fingers through mine on the counter, his thumb tracing my knuckles.
"We'll get through it," he said quietly.
A crash from somewhere upstairs—something hitting the floor, followed by Raven's voice raised in either excitement or anger, I couldn't tell—shattered the moment.
"Dinner service," Gus said with a sigh, releasing my hand. "Time to feed the masses."
"Need help?"
"Actually—" He glanced toward where his prep team was setting up in the corner. "Yeah. I could use an extra set of hands for plating. These people want everything to look like a magazine spread, right?"
"That's the idea."
"Then help me make it happen."
DINNER WAS AN ELABORATEaffair—a harvest-inspired menu that Gus and his team had been preparing all day. Butternut squash soup with crispy sage, pan-seared duck breast with cherry gastrique, roasted root vegetables, and an apple tart that would have made professional food photographers weep.
The dining room buzzed with controlled chaos. Raven filmed everything for her feed, narrating for her phone even while others tried to eat. Blaze had gone through two drinks already, his movements taking on that overly careful quality of someone monitoring their coordination. He kept flexing between courses, as if the cameras might miss his biceps otherwise.
Stormi picked at her soup, makeup flawless but doing nothing to hide the puffiness around her eyes. When Jett leaned over to whisper something, she managed a small smile that looked painful.
I watched from the doorway, mentally tracking each potential crisis, when Diana appeared at my elbow.
"The drama is perfect," she said, her voice low. "Raven's performing, Blaze is drinking, and Stormi—" She gestured toward the younger Monroe sister. "That girl is barely holding it together. Tony, get some B-roll of the sisters."
I said nothing, just slipped back to the kitchen before I could say something I'd regret.
As the main course plating began, Gus caught my attention.
"Sam. Here."
